tree on one corner
on the other a shrine
they hedged their bets
stood astride the line
they sealed their letters to the holy ghost
and slipped them in the midnight post
afraid of what their friends would say
if they mailed them in the light of day
each one believed in the abstract
a realm free of the force of fact
but when that ghost began to ride
they laced their cakes with cyanide
better to be crazy amid false gods
than run the table and play the odds
By B Gourley in poem, Poetry on February 1, 2017.
